


the thinnest of threads

by icygrace



Series: royal commands [1]
Category: Reign (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Deaths (sort of), F/M, Family Relationships - Freeform, Mad Kings, Scotland, sibling relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-09
Updated: 2014-11-09
Packaged: 2018-02-24 19:05:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2592866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icygrace/pseuds/icygrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She tries not to wonder if the true Valois birthright is madness powerful enough to destroy even God’s anointed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the thinnest of threads

**Author's Note:**

> Kenna’s father’s title is real. 
> 
> Yay for meeting Kenna’s family, not yay for a lot of the other goings-on in this story.

_You are no more and no less than the son of your father_ , the German duke had shouted at Francis during his coronation festivities.

 

It turns out he was absolutely right. 

 

\---

_The two of you hang from the thinnest of threads, Francis and Mary’s inexplicable devotion to you. It keeps you at court –_

 

Until it doesn’t.

 

\---

 

She recalls Bash telling her of his acceptance of the deputy job, how Francis asked why he was kneeling, his reply, and Francis’s indignant response.

 

_Why are you kneeling?_

_Because you are the king, and I am nothing, until you make me something._

_Don’t say that. You’re my brother._

 

_Then give me the job already. Do it up properly. Use my sword._

 

Francis gave Bash the job, but as far as she knows, never corrected him.

 

\---

 

After Francis dismisses Bash as his deputy and banishes them from court, giving them a single night to pack their things and make arrangements to depart, Lady Barnard’s long-forgotten threat echoes through her head. At the time, Kenna had been too focused on the threat to her husband’s life to remember the rest of Lady Barnard’s venomous – but painfully true – words.

 

_But it won’t save you._

 

From humiliation, from penury.

 

_Stop exaggerating, you sound like such a goose, Ken!_

 

She wrinkles her nose at the memory of her elder brother’s scoldings. Perhaps penury’s a bit dramatic, but it is true that they’ve no home of their own away from court, their dear little chateau from Catherine having burned down during the plague fires.

 

It’s nearing sunrise when she realizes she’s been packing all night and ordering her maid – a maid whose salary is paid out of the queen’s household expenses, a maid she must leave behind – about in preparation for an unknown destination

 

“Where are we even going?”

 

“To Paris. To my mother,” Bash says forlornly. He’d been propelled by anger upon returning to their rooms, but he just seems tired now. “We’ve nowhere else to go.”

 

Good God, she’s leaving court to go to the woman she once saw as a rival, whose secrets she’d revealed to Catherine (secrets that might have cost the man she now calls husband his _life_ ), now her _mother-in-law_. She’s had the good fortune not to cross paths with Diane de Poitiers since Diane left court, but now it seems she must _live_ with the woman.

 

Bash shakes his head. “My own father tried to have me killed and marched us both to the altar at sword point. Francis himself would have gladly seen me exiled for the rest of my life until I saved his and yet, I’m still surprised at the way the Valois treat me!”

 

The _Valois._ He’s never been one of them, truly. 

 

She wonders if Paris is far enough.

 

\---

 

Kenna refuses to give in to despair, even now that she’s living under Diane de Poitiers’ roof.

 

They come to a truce of sorts, for they may despise one another, but they both love Bash, who’s suffering rather terribly, having only once before in his life fallen so badly out of favor with his royal relatives.

 

\---

 

Henry’s anger was a raging, boiling thing, but Francis’s anger is ice. It takes three months for it to begin to thaw.

 

It starts with an unannounced visit from Lola, with little Jean-Philippe in tow.

 

They stand when Lola is escorted in, but Kenna makes no move to embrace her, nor does Bash. She’s not sure it’s fair to resent Lola, but she does.

 

Lola’s not once written her in her entire time away from court. And Lola is the mother of the king’s only son, perhaps if she’d spoken for them –  

 

Diane is the one to fill the silence. “You have a beautiful son.” Her eyes, full of reproach, cut to Kenna as she offers the compliment. 

 

As though they’re in any position to have a child now. They were never careful at court, never fully understanding the precariousness of their position, even as Kenna scrambled after any bit of power beyond the job Francis assigned Bash, a position beholden to the king’s goodwill. But now – well, there are ways of preventing conception and they are far more cautious than they once were.

 

“It’s been so long,” Lola states pointlessly, handing a drowsing Jean-Philippe off to his nanny, who’s escorted away by the maid who just brought in tea and pastries.

 

Diane gives Kenna a pointed look over the pot.

 

Kenna gives her the same look back.

 

Diane has made perfectly clear what Kenna’s place in her household is. If Diane were another sort of woman, perhaps she might allow her son’s wife a more active part in the running of the household, so that she might learn for when they – hopefully, _hopefully_ – have a household of their own. She had barely any time to learn household management before Henry’s death called them back to court and the plague took their home. But Diane has not. So as chatelaine, Diane is hostess and it is her responsibility to see to her guests’ comfort. She huffily begins to pour while the silence stretches on.

 

“Yes, it has,” Kenna agrees, finally unable to bear the quiet.

 

“How are you faring?”

 

“As well as courtiers can away from court, I suppose.” She’s become rather self-indulgent, sleeping late and taking breakfast in bed (a privilege of married women she rarely partook of at court). There aren’t many visitors, so she’s spent a lot of time improving her needlework and reading what few books Diane possesses. Though Bash is restless at his lack of occupation, he’s also better-rested than he was in all his time as Francis’s deputy, but it’s been no easy thing for him.

 

For either of them.

 

\---

 

Once their fear subsides upon arriving at Diane’s, their frustration at their situation results in the same bickering that plagued the earliest days of their marriage, only uglier and nastier now that they know each other’s hearts and truly know how to hurt one another.

 

They carry on like that until one day the bickering takes an especially ugly turn.

 

Bash loses his temper at her bemoaning their situation, more specifically the marriage that started it all, how she would still be at court if she’d “married _anyone_ but the king’s bastard!”

 

“Better a king’s bastard than a king’s whore!”

 

“Careful, Sebastian, because in this house, we king’s whores outnumber the king’s bastards!” She hurls her half-full goblet of red wine at his head, sending him running from their chamber, and bursts into tears so loud and ugly that they reach Diane’s ears.

 

That results in Diane scolding Bash severely, as though he were a boy rather than a man grown and married. She quite literally drags him back to their bedroom by the ear. “I may not _like_ her, but you forbade me to seek an annulment of your marriage –”

 

Kenna’s jaw nearly drops at that, though she really should not be surprised.

 

“So she is and will remain your wife. And I did not raise you to be the sort of man who mistreats his wife, Sebastian.”   

 

\---

 

“We all miss you, you know,” Lola says sheepishly. “That’s why I stopped here on the way to the chateau. I’m sorry things have turned out this way.”

 

“Why are you going to your chateau? It doesn’t seem the time of year to enjoy it at its best advantage,” Kenna says, knowing far too much about the property that she cannot help but think Lola’s son – Francis’s son and their nephew – does not need. He’s only a baby.

 

“Francis feels it is not . . . safe at court for Jean-Philippe.”

 

Is it one of his courtiers – one not of his own blood this time – that the king suspects of this new potential betrayal or perhaps his queen, who’s yet to get pregnant again?

 

“Does he know you intended to stop here? I doubt he would think _us_ very safe company for his son,” Kenna says.

 

Lola bites her lip and says no, but the lip-biting gives her away.

 

It tells Kenna that this little visit was the king’s idea. Mother of the king’s son or no, Lola wouldn’t dare sneak about with people he thinks traitors, not when he suspects everyone and his temper is so volatile, but Kenna won’t give herself away. It’s best if Lola doesn’t know anyone is onto her. “And Lord Narcisse, what does he think? You were courting when we left.”

 

Lola hesitates. “We’re not betrothed yet. Francis is against it.”

 

Kenna knows Lola speaks true this time because of course the king is not above using Lola as a pawn to get to Narcisse – or drawing Bash into the intrigue – but he won’t let her take advantage of the stability the man offers. Instead, he continues to use her, on this particular day sending his one-time lover here to assess the brother and sister-in-law he still suspects may betray him. “I’m sorry to hear it. Lord Narcisse seemed keen to marry you.”

 

They have another quarter hour of stilted conversation before Lola declines Diane’s offer to spend the night.

 

\---

 

The next sign of royal notice arrives just ahead of Kenna’s birthday: a beautiful dress and a necklace to match the ring Catherine gave her at Henry’s command, with a handwritten note from the queen mother of all people.

 

The dress is so beautiful that Kenna almost forgets herself, almost reaches out to touch it, almost asks Bash to help her undo her sash and her lacings so she might try it on.

 

But then she remembers her early days at court and the poison dress meant for Mary. Perhaps it’s just a harmless present, but it may well be a Trojan dress she tosses into the fire because _no one_ must be harmed by it.

 

Though Diane assures her she never heard of poisoned jewels in all her years at court, Kenna remembers Catherine’s poisoned gold and knows she is not Diane’s first choice of daughter-in-law, so she sells the necklace after having it thoroughly scoured.

 

\---

 

“Don’t give in too easily, Sebastian,” Diane warns when it’s Bash’s turn to receive a grand birthday gift from court. This time, the giver is the Queen of Scotland and France and the gift is a handsome palfrey, a finer beast than Bash has ever had, along with a saddle of the finest craftsmanship.

 

She knows it’s another overture at Francis’s bidding, too proud to make it himself, that her queen and once-friend likely doesn’t mean anything by it, but she can’t help the jealousy licking at her insides. After all, her queen is now tied to a rather dangerously paranoid king. She might regret choosing him over Bash, might –

 

“I’m not about to give in at all,” Bash snaps, the same edge in his voice that’s emerged each time Diane attempts to tell him how to handle his family.

 

\---

 

Kenna’s jealousy rears its head again when she’s alone with her husband that night.

 

As she marks his skin hers with her nails and teeth, as she rides her him with reckless abandon, she is silently shouting at her absent queen. _He is mine,_ mine, _and you will not have him!_

 

\---

 

They don’t speak of court or a potential return to it again until a messenger arrives from the king himself.

 

“You must go, but only after he makes up to you for humiliating you. You will extract every favor you can from him – title, lands, rents and incomes, gold, even jewels for your wife if you wish. He will give you whatever you want. If he’s asked for you back after dismissing you so publicly, the situation at court must be dire.”

 

“I will not return to court!”

 

“Then you must get rid of the messenger –”

 

“Mother!”

 

“Bribe him. I will provide the money. Anything that avoids your outright refusing Francis. Agree to a story: he could not find you, as you had already departed.”

 

“Where could we possibly go?”

 

“To Scotland, to visit your wife’s family. Can’t you?” Diane asks, raising an eyebrow at Kenna.

 

\---

 

She once told Bash that she hoped to show him Scotland someday, when things calmed down and his brother could spare him for a time.

 

Now they’ve all the time in the world but not nearly enough funds to enjoy it. And bastard or not, Bash is undeniably a proud man. She doubts he could bear relying on her father’s largesse – assuming her father was even willing to extend it – for long.

 

 _A presumptuous man, even if he is the king of France, giving_ my _daughter_ , _a noble_ lady _to the bastard he won’t even give his name to! What right had this Henry Valois? You are Mary Stuart’s subject, not his. Why did our queen not protect you?_

 

When he learned the truth of why the king thought he had any right to have a say over her life and her marriage prospects (besides his madness), Father’s reaction was rather remarkable. He hadn’t disowned her like Lola’s family did her. Instead, he cursed himself for allowing Kenna to leave his sight alone for a strange land and swore vengeance, convinced that Henry had taken advantage of her innocence, had perhaps even forced himself on her, if she understood the suddenly awkward, convoluted letters she received after her wedding correctly. He was equally convinced that once divested of her virtue, Kenna felt she had no choice but to remain at Henry’s side, since her queen obviously could not – or would not – protect her.

 

She was too grateful not to be cut off from her family to correct him. And Henry had become so terrifying that she did not feel the least bit guilty allowing her father to hold the blackest possible image of him. But Bash – she wrote of her husband’s kindness, his bravery, his good character, even his love. _It’s a miracle, truly, Father, but he is devoted to me and I to him._

It’s the sort of thing she supposes one ought to write to one’s mother about rather than one’s father, but her mother is dead. 

 

\---

 

Growing up, Kenna is well-aware that she’s Father’s favorite. It isn’t really fair to Andrew, as Kenna’s done nothing special to earn Father’s favor.

 

It’s only that Andrew, the firstborn, had been needed, awaited with anxiety and endless prayers for a boy, the desperately sought heir to the title and wealth their parents’ marriage had united. He was born early in that marriage, before their parents were truly in love, while Kenna, arriving later, was the child of that love, not needed, but simply wanted. She is Mother’s miniature – _the spit and image of our lady_ , the servants said – and Father delights in it. Their parents love one another dearly.

 

\---

 

Their parents grew up on neighboring estates, Mother a beloved playmate of Father’s sister Fiona and by extension of Father’s until he felt himself too grown up for games. _I think I loved him even then, but you know how silly boys are. When we were older, it drove me mad the way the maids sighed over him!_

Mother had no expectation that anything should come of her infatuation. Her family was new money, while Father’s family, though it had less, had an ancient, honorable title. Father had been meant for a grand aristocratic match, to an earl’s daughter with a larger dowry than Grandfather had settled on Mother. But the earl’s daughter died in a minor plague outbreak, not long before Mother’s only sibling, the brother for whom Andrew had been named, fell from his horse and broke his neck. His death left her a very wealthy heiress to vast holdings, including the adjoining estate Father’s father had coveted for years. 

 

While Father had not felt for Mother the same sort of feelings Mother did for him when they first married, he’d been fond of her from their shared childhood and had slowly grown to love her, loving her very deeply once his heart was won.

 

\---

 

Andrew’s and Kenna’s temperaments reflect their roles in the family. Andrew is dutiful and meticulous in everything, from his archery to learning the names and arms of all the great houses of Scotland. Without Kenna’s prodding, he can be serious to be point of dourness. She is all smiles and laughter, but spoiled and a little bit flighty. Yet they balance one another, clever Andrew tossing the occasional saucy _bon mot_ at Kenna’s instigation that delights her and would scandalize their tutors if they heard him, while his calming influence prevents her from getting in quite so much trouble with those same tutors. And they bring out the best in each other: the kind, loving hearts they both possess.

 

It is just the two of them until Mother falls pregnant again after many years without bearing a child. Father is pleased and surprised, fretting over Mother and doting on her.

 

Kenna is terribly jealous. Not of her mother, who she loves dearly, but of the coming baby. She’s been the youngest all her life, spoiled and petted by everyone, Mother, Father, Grandfather while he lived and Aunt Fiona when she visits, all the servants, even her very serious older brother, and now some stupid baby is about to take her place. She’s eleven, nearly twelve, nearly a grown up lady,and knows better, knows it’s childish, but she doesn’t care. She pulls away from Mother, angry that Mother could do such a thing to her. 

 

And then Mother dies bringing the baby into the world.

 

She spends a very long time blaming baby Callum for the loss of their mother until she realizes that he’ll never know Mother at all and feels so desperately sad for him that she can’t continue to resent him. Once she opens her heart, she delights in eliciting his gummy smiles and gurgling baby laughter.

 

Without Mother, with Father barely able to look at _the_ _spit and image_ of the love of his life, her brothers are her only solace.

 

Eventually Callum is all that is left to her, with Father still keeping her at arm’s length and her over-serious older brother engaging in the drinking, gambling, whoring ways of noblemen with Father’s indifferent permissiveness and no fear of Mother’s disappointment to rein him in whenever he’s not fulfilling their grieving father’s responsibilities.

 

She grows used to Father’s indifference and refuses to think about it because all it does is make her sad and she is _not_ a sad person. Instead, she delights in the servant boys’ awed stares as she grows into herself, at the warm smiles and compliments of visiting lords, allies to her father or friends to her brother, at other girls’ obvious jealousy of her fine dresses and finer features.

 

When she’s summoned to Mary’s side at French court, Father isn’t particularly sad to send her away, but she doesn’t care. She pushes all thoughts of her family out of her mind when she arrives in France and is reunited with her friends. She would grow sad if she dwells on them and she is _not_ a sad person.

 

\---

 

She refuses to cry or to be afraid when they set sail for Scotland. They will arrive safely and Father will welcome them and all will be as well as it can be.

 

After a night’s stay at an inn near the harbor to rest and refresh themselves, they hire a rather shabby-looking carriage. It’s shabby enough that they’re nearly barred from entering the estate Kenna called home for the first sixteen years of her life.

 

“What business have you here?” she hears the familiar voice of one of the guards ask their carriage driver suspiciously.

 

She opens the curtain in front of the little window in the carriage door.

 

Ronan jumps for a moment, shocked, before opening the door.

 

“He brings me home.”

 

Ronan helps her down at once. “Milady, forgive me for stopping your carriage, but we weren’t expecting any visitors and certainly not a member of the family –”

 

“Don’t trouble yourself, Ronan, it was a surprise. Is my father home? My brothers?”

 

“The earl is away and the nanny took the little lord to the village, milady, but the young lord is at home.”

 

“Wonderful!”

 

\---

 

“Kenna!” Andrew stares at her in disbelief. “What in God’s name are you –”

 

“None of that,” she says, flying at her brother to embrace him, all else forgotten, just for a moment.

 

He catches her with no hesitation.

 

“I’ll explain later,” she says when they break apart. “Just be happy we’re reunited for now.”

 

“It isn’t the same without you here,” he says softly.

 

It’s lovely, being welcomed back, but then she remembers that Bash must feel rather uncomfortable, waiting off to one side. “I was so happy to see you I’ve forgotten I’ve got introductions to make.”

 

Andrew’s smile fades at the reminder that’s she’s married now. Remembering that she’s married means remembering that she’s not married to the sort of man they expected for her.

 

“Don’t look like that!” she scolds. “I know we may not have started off in the best way, but we’re very happy.” She clears her throat. “Andrew, my _beloved_ –” She puts an unmistakable emphasis on the word for her brother’s benefit. “Husband, Sebastian. Bash, my dear brother Andrew. I’m so happy to have you two meet, even if the circumstances are less than ideal.”

 

“Less than ideal?”

 

“It’s a long story. Does Father share my letters with you?” They’re very brief and infrequent replies to his (usually) equally brief but frequent letters, but they at least convey the barebones of her life in France.

 

“He tells me the main points. Your marriage, Queen Mary’s wedding before that, that sort of thing.”

 

“Did he ever mention that Bash was named king’s deputy?”

 

“Rather reluctantly,” Andrew says, lips twitching.

 

Kenna rolls her eyes.  

 

“But of course moaned about your return reply to his questions about the job, about how it came with no lands or –”

 

“Andrew!”

 

“I’m telling you what I know.”

 

“It’s true it carries no title or lands, but it’s rather a lot of responsibility. It means the king truly trusts –”

 

“I know what a king’s deputy is, Kenna.”

 

“Well, somewhere along the way, the king ceased to trust Bash and grew very angry with him, without warning.”

 

Andrew looks immediately skeptical. He’s always had an expressive face.

 

“We tell one another _everything_. Rest assured if he were plotting against the crown, I’d be the first to know about it. Likely the only one.”

 

“But I wouldn’t! I wasn’t,” Bash interjects.

 

“And yet the king thinks you did,” Andrew says suspiciously. “So let me guess . . . you were stripped of your position and any income that might have come with it and sent away and now cannot possibly keep my sister in the manner to which she’s accustomed.”

 

“ _Andrew!_ ”

 

Bash remains remarkably calm on the outside, but she knows he cannot feel it within. “That’s all true, but that’s not why we’re here. If it were a matter of money, we would’ve remained in Paris with my mother. It’s true we have no lands, but we’ve been prudent with Kenna’s dowry –”

 

The dowry Father wrote her about, saying he was considering withholding it until she wrote that she was married and withholding it would only cause her discomfort.

 

“And could eventually find a suitable place, to let at the very least. It wouldn’t be the lap of luxury, but it would be comfortable enough and your sister has proven remarkably adaptable.”

 

Andrew looks almost . . . pleased, somehow. Proud? How strange. “Then why are you here?”

 

“The king wants Bash back at court, but we don’t think it’s wise to return.”

 

“Is it prudence or pride that keeps you away?”

 

“Both,” Bash admits. “I won’t pretend I’m not angry over the way the king’s treated me –” He never refers to Francis by name or as _my brother_ (certainly not _my little brother_ , as he sometimes did with a twinkle in his eye) anymore. Now it’s always _the king_. “But I fear that the next time he suspects me over some piddling rumor or has a sudden turn of temper, he may not be satisfied with taking my position at court and sending us away.”

 

Andrew understands his meaning at once. “Do you truly think your own brother would have you killed?”

 

“I’ve no doubt that he would. What I _fear_ is that Kenna might join me on the block.”

 

She gasps. She can’t help it. Bash has a habit of speaking plain, but he’s never spoken so plainly on that particular point. It’s fear for _him_ that had her running to Scotland.

 

“Then there’s nothing else to say on the matter,” Andrew says, wrapping a protective arm around her shoulders.

 

“Andrew –”

 

“You will remain here as long as necessary, even if it means years.”

 

“You can’t just tell people they can stay without consulting Father, even family,” she scolds. “You’re not earl yet!”

 

“Do you really think Father will allow you to return to France if you’re in such danger?”

 

“It’s not Father’s place to _allow_ me anything any –”

 

“Kenna?”

 

“Father,” she replies, startled.

 

In what feels like a second, she’s caught in his arms. She can’t remember the last time she was – actually, no, she can remember very clearly.

 

\---

 

The baby is coming and Father is called home for the birth.

 

Kenna waits for him at the door, wanting to be the first to greet him.

 

He’s so excited and happy that he swings her about before holding her close.

 

\---

 

And then everything had gone terribly, terribly wrong.

 

Today, he’s – goodness _,_ her father’s . . . is that a tear? When he releases her, there’s an awed look on his face. “My girl,” he whispers, cupping her chin. “You’ve come back to us.”

 

It’s rather grand being home, to feel herself completely out of danger for the first time in a very long time.

 

\---

 

Eventually she suspects being home – feeling safe and _comfortable_ for the first time in a very long time – has made her careless, but it’s too soon to tell.

 

Still, she should probably be careful, just to be safe, so she asks her old nanny’s advice.

 

\---

 

Andrew takes his role as heir very seriously, taking on ever more of the responsibilities attached to the earldom. Now that they’re here for an undetermined amount of time, Bash is determined to do his part as long as they stay, so he usually sets off with Andrew early in the day, his time as king’s deputy proving very useful in helping her brother manage the earldom’s affairs.

 

That means it’s usually just Father and her for breakfast.

 

Today, their breakfast is fairly typical – far too rich for her rather limited appetite – with the exception of the pomegranates on the table.

 

She remembers Father bringing home pomegranates once when Mother was still alive. They’re very rare and quite dear, impossible to grow even in more hospitable parts of Scotland like theirs. The ones Father had bought that day came all the way from Spain. Mother devoured them, but only after offering some to Kenna and Andrew.

 

Andrew hadn’t loved them, but he hadn’t hated them either.

 

Kenna, on the other hand, had loathed the taste. And yet today –

 

“I knew you’d like them,” Father says triumphantly after she finishes one pomegranate and starts on a second, having abandoned her plain toasted bread for a fruit she once despised.

 

“How could you possibly? You must have developed some sort of psychic powers, because I hated them as a girl.”

 

“Your mother couldn’t stand the things either –”

 

“But I remember when you bought a whole lot of them once Mother couldn’t get enough of them –”

 

“Because she wanted them then. She only asked for them, could only stomach them, when she was with child.”

 

She feels her face burn. “Father – I – how –”

 

“Nothing to be embarrassed about, it’s a good thing, a child. Nanny Moira told me –”

 

“She _what_?”

 

“Don’t you go scolding her. No daughter of mine’s going to scold the woman that helped raise her.”

 

“I –”

 

“I know that face, Kenna.”

 

“But she wasn’t supposed to tell _anyone_ , not yet! It’s early days. Women lose babies so easily. The queen did and –”

 

“Just me and nobody will know from me. But I know you’ll be all right.” His face takes on a dark cast and she knows he’s thinking of Mother, but his words are resolute. “You have to be.”

 

\---

 

And she is. The only thing to mar the otherwise happy months of her pregnancy are the missives from France – from Lola, from the queen, even from the queen mother – pleading that she persuade Bash to accept his old position at court. Things must be _very_ bad at court if they’re so insistent, but it matters not, because she can say no without saying no. _My time grows nearer, so he won’t believe that I wish him to leave, even for the good of the realm. Even if he did believe it, he wouldn’t leave me._

 

\---

 

“She has her father’s eyes, but that, that’s certainly your nose, your mother’s nose,” Father says sentimentally. “And the same mouth. She’ll be a pretty little lass like her mother.”

 

“I suppose it’s lucky Bash is skilled with all manner of weapons.”

 

“I expect he’ll do a better job protecting her than I did with you.”

 

“Father –”

 

“Let me finish, Kenna. I didn’t do right by you after your mother passed and we both know it. We’re very fortunate that your husband’s turned out to be a better man than his father, because it could’ve gone far worse for you. It didn’t and I’m very thankful for it, but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t wrong not to watch out for you.”

 

She finds that she can’t speak and instead begins to cry because she can’t help it, because she seems to have no control over her emotions. She cries for herself, for the young girl who lost her mother and was left adrift, she cries for the baby she already loves more than she’s ever loved anyone, she cries because she fears she can’t protect her baby like she did when she was still inside her, she cries because her daughter’s birth means that it’s only a matter of time before they run out of excuses to remain in Scotland.

 

\---

 

The baby has no name until Callum names her.

 

Callum, who cried so bitterly when Kenna left, who’s grown attached to Bash, though he did not like to share his big sister with _anyone_ when they first arrived, was terribly jealous of the impending arrival because it was the only thing they and anyone else could talk about.

 

But now that the baby’s here, Callum’s grown rather attached to her, too, and he’s aghast that they’ve yet to name her. “Tara’s a pretty name. And it’s like Father’s title, sort of.” Their father is the Earl of Tarras.

 

“It is pretty,” Kenna agrees. “What do you think, Bash?”

 

He smiles at Callum. “I rather like it. Very Scottish, and she was born in Scotland, at your father’s seat. It’s fitting.”

 

 _They_ fit here and she wishes they never had to leave.

 

\---

 

But that doesn’t mean she wishes the king _dead_.

 

When they receive word of his death, she doesn’t know what to say to Bash. She knows his heart has been hardened against his brother for a long time, but Francis was once his best friend, the little brother he loved above the rest of his half-siblings. Even after everything Henry did to him and to them, she offered Bash condolences and comfort upon his death, but now, with Francis, she is at a loss.

 

Bash is mostly in shock, showing little emotion before her father and brothers. He shares his thoughts with her only once they’re alone. “I think . . . I think he was poisoned. No one bleeds like that from an ear infection. And I think Catherine did it.”

 

“My God, there’s no way –”

 

“And I think she was right to do it.”

 

She shivers, her skin breaking out in gooseflesh at the calm, cold way her husband says it, as though they were discussing the new regent of France’s choice of soup course for a feast, rather than the fact that she may have murdered her firstborn son.

 

“From what happened before we left, what’s been written to you these past months, and what I’ve been hearing from other sources, he was going the way of Henry, and the last thing we need – France needs – is another mad king on the throne. Catherine de Medici is many things – and many of them terrible – but she is most of all two things: a devoted mother and a frightfully sane woman. If she did it, it had to be done. Better a sane serpent as regent than a madman as king.”

 

She nods, trying to tell herself she’s imagining the darkness in her husband’s eyes tonight. She tries not to wonder if the true Valois birthright – one even her husband can claim though he cannot claim their name – is madness powerful enough to destroy even God’s anointed.

 

\---

 

Once, when he’s a bit drunk and sentimental over the loss of his close relationship with his brother, Bash tells her what Francis shared of Henry’s deathbed confessions: that Henry had poisoned his elder brother’s water during a tennis match, resulting in his death, that Henry had driven a wedge between Francis and Bash because, having killed his own brother to usurp his place, he feared Bash might do the same.

 

Bash was the bastard, but Henry always saw more of himself in his elder son than the younger.

 

Yet it was the younger who ultimately met a similar end. What does that mean for the elder?

 

\---

 

Kenna is already a wife and a mother. She has no choice (as Bash said what feels like a lifetime ago, _we are married and we cannot be un-married_ ) but to hope that despite the Valois blood in their veins, her husband and her daughter aren’t destined for the same madness that plagued the late kings.

 

She thinks it unlikely, but she decides not to tempt fate. She won’t have other children. Neither Bash’s quiet disappointment when no babies follow Tara nor Tara’s insistent, unfulfilled pleas for a sibling, not even the horror in Nanny Moira’s eyes when she stumbles across the secret cache of herbs Kenna keeps just in case her precautions should fail her, induce the slightest guilt.

 

The late kings were both second children, after all.

 

For the first time, Kenna truly understands Catherine de Medici. But she does not want to _be_ Catherine de Medici, so she does what she must.


End file.
